2010-04-27 - I, Robot
Johnny Domino's foray into the world of unfeeling automatons was a failure. No matter how hard he tried ridding himself of unwanted thoughts, various pesky emotions kept floating to the surface, taunting the Agent with their goshdarned humanity. At the end, Domino gave up. Or perhaps 'gave up' is the wrong term. More like, Johnny accepted what was on his mind, finally facing some of his faults and mistakes. But only some. The good news? Johnny Domino is now back to normal. The bad news? He's back to feeling the same fears and anxieties as before. Right now, for example, Johnny Domino is rather anxious about the prospect of becoming macronized. Sitting in one of the public areas designated for human recreation aboard the Zentradi ship, this marks one of the rare instances of the Agent actually venturing out of his quarters for something other than his duties. In his grasp is a nifty PDA, displaying an electronic pamphlet helpfully detailing the process of macronization, providing various useful facts, debunking misconceptions and otherwise offering lovely drawings alongside the written explanations. Thankfully the pamphlet in question is nothing like NERV's various pamphlets, pretty much all of which have tiny caricatures of Johnny Domino suffering various mishaps. But then again, uhhh, this doesn't seem to matter much to Johnny. Even without him being drawn in the pamphlet, the young man still appears highly bothered. Rereading a particular line touching upon internal functions such as blood pressure, the Agent then moves his eyes to stare at a picture showing a Zentradi with his head flying off in a geyser of blood. Johnny narrows his eyes in displeasure, slowly tilting his head to its side, as if looking at a delicious centerfold image. Geeeeh. Lamia Loveless's foray into the world of unfeeling automatons was a failure. No matter how hard she tried ridding herself of unwanted thoughts, love, justice, and passion still burst out to the fore. Or perhaps "bust" out. Lamia is not on track to be macronized, because she is not composed "entirely" or even "mostly" of meat. THe machines may be able to handle your fillings and your penile implants, but Lamia is apparently some kind of horrible plant/meat thing coating an invincible machine body, despite her salacious traits. And as such, she is only academically curious as she comes up with eerie silence behind Johnny Domino's pamphleteering. He seems tense, she thinks. "Remember, they are far less tense about death than humans," she says, /completely out of nowhere/. Curious. Do Zentradi penile implants shoot rockets? Johnny Domino has now moved to the next page, staring at a picture of a Zentradi looking down at his foot, underwhich is a fine red splotch. The caption cheerily says 'Watch Your Step'. Next to it are some guidelines to avoid stepping on things, like humans, or the toes of your fellow Zentradi. Suddenly Lamia. "ACKTHBLPZ!!" Domino leaps up, PDA flying out of his grasp. Spinning around, the Agent glares daggers at Lamia. "Don't DO that!", he demands. He'd rant some more at the plantish robot, but the PDA chooses that moment to answer the call of gravity. For everything that goes up must eventually come down. In this case: come down on Domino's head. Clonk! Johnny purses his lips. He is not amused. (yes) Lamia's hand moves out easily to collect the PDA on the rebound, and she says with a slightly abashed look, "I apologize. I did not mean to approach silently -" A half second's pause. "Mr. Domino." The PDA is turned around and proffered back outwards. Her gaze is rather calm, for a terrifying interdimensional killbot; she really /does/ look guilty, if maybe not immensely. (To be fair, of course, 'startling someone' and 'reading over their shoulder' is not a dire sin, not even under Advanced Leavemealoneology.) Johnny deflates upon hearing Lamia's apology. Fine, fine, he'll accept it. He's too tense over the whole macronization thing to really have the energy to be cross with the robot. Reaching out and closing his fingers around the PDA, Domino pauses, not actually pulling it out of Lamia's grasp. He observes the woman in front of him, blue gaze becoming sharper with interest. It should be noted Johnny is staring at her face and not, as one might suspect, her chest. "So when did you learn to talk?" The Agent figures it has something to do with the apparent death and rebirth this woman went through, but the full logistics of the event escaped Domino. Some things happen to be wrapped up in so much red tape and cover up bullshit, even Agents have a rough time digging the truth out. Lamia blinks several times, and then nods very slightly. "I had the... speech difficulties, that I believe you refer to?" she pauses fractionally, as if expecting confirmation, but let's be honest, she's getting it: "Due to damage in a language synapse which I was not able to heal or repair. While the organization attempted to provide me with a replacement, it was destroyed, and I assume that my creator took care to use a functional one when I was reconstructed." She is silent for a second. "If you mean more generally..." "No, no," Domino interjects before Lamia can begin telling him about her childhood and how she had a speech program implanted in her brain or whatever. "I meant the... the other thing you just said." Finally reclaiming his PDA, the Agent considers sitting down and going back to his worried reading. He would have done so in the past without a second thought, since once upon a time, Johnny couldn't understand a goddamned thing Lamia would utter. Talking to her was a futile exercise! But... now she /can/ talk. Domino's eyes dart to the left, then to the right. Man, this is awkward. It's like finding out someone you thought was a retard was actually a normal person all of a sudden. Or, well, granted, Lamia wasn't really a normal person. More like some sort of... cyborg... thing. But still. How was Johnny supposed to treat her now? "So." Prolonged silence. "..enjoying the trip?" "OK," Lamia says, apparently content to be companionably silent. Or else perhaps faintly enjoying the discomfort she is apparently inflicting on - no, she's getting that faintly pensive look on her face, not one usually compatible with "enjoying the suffering of Johnny Domino." But she's not normal, either, so there's that. "It is preferrable to confinement," she says. "It has certainly been interesting. I am not sure if... enjoy... is the term that I would use." "Huuuuuh," says the Agent. It's a soft, noncommittal uttering. If Lamia is similarly pensive, Domino doesn't catch it. Once upon a time, the Agent would've thought to himself that the woman must be enjoying watching him suffer and was doing it on purpose. MAYBE HE'D EVEN BE RIGHT. But now Johnny isn't at all sure. God, why does she keep standing there instead of bidding him a good day and continuing on her merry way? Does she want something from Domino? What on earth could she possibly desire of the Agent that would keep her rooted in place and staring at him like some sort of-- Wait a minute... "I owe you money, don't I?" "Do you? I am not sure; did you ascertain that detail?" Lamia asks. She adds, her tone shifting almost notably - as if on a notched lever - towards the softer and gentler. "It is not necessary. For one thing, I regret disturbing you. For another, I do not, in fact, have any money." Johnny sort of... neglected to 'ascertain that detail', as Lamia put it. And, as a matter of fact: "W..well." The young man fidgets. "I didn't bring any money with me either." It seems Domino and Lamia have reached an impasse. "Besides," the Agent shrugs, unable to keep his heart from marginally melting at Lamia's professed regret. "I wouldn't say you disturbed me. More like snuck up on me, maybe, uh." Wait, no, tact. "I mean. I was far more disturbed by this pamphlet. You aren't, by any chance, going to get macronized... are you?" "I do not wish to make the attempt, and I do not believe they will try," Lamia says with a slight shake of the head. "I am not a cyborg as Commander Kridanik or your Guy Shishioh is." Her arms fold, loosely. "I am not sure how I will provide support. However, I suppose that I have greater physical capacity and survivability than a typically sized human." Johnny Domino seems taken aback. Not by Lamia's admission that she is not going to be macronized, but by something else entirely. "You're not a cyborg?" Domino, jarred by this declaration, further blurts, "What the fuck are you?" "I am an artificial humanoid being," Lamia says, blinking twice. "I am sorry if this distresses you. I had thought that you also had them, though, not many?" She can only dimly think of one, that sassy girl who hung around with that negotiator man. "--uh," Johnny makes a valiant attempt at formulating words. Alas, it fails, and the Agent remains with his mouth open. As Lamia blinks twice, Domino neglects to blink at all, simply watching Lamia with - yes, distress. Eventually, the Agent seems to come out of his shock, as indicated by the slight jerking of his body. Regaining some of his senses and returning to reality, Domino begins reaching out to Lamia. Hesitant and stiff, the young man's open palm nevertheless makes to initiate contact with the woman's lush breasts. Wait, no. An outsider might think so, considering the direction Johnny's hand is taking, but in truth, the Agent actually seeks to make contact with Lamia's crossed arms. Frowning to himself as he does so, Johnny's fingers mean to feel the woman's exposed flesh. It is not the first time someone has groped at Lamia's borderline hilarious breasts. Johnny, seeing her with the eyes of either new revelation or homosexuality, might see that to some extent the T&A are likely a cover over an unusually, bordering on unfeminine build. Without them she'd look like a somewhat short weightlifter. The skin of her arm feels normal, if, maybe, smoother than usual? But perhaps she simply shaves. A squeeze yields, but maybe not as easily as a normal human's flesh. Maybe - or maybe something else. Lamia explains, to remove the element of mystery, rather quietly. "My skin and blood are genetically human on the outer layers. Most of what you see is also biological in nature." Johnny's homosexuality is among a number of out-of-date philosophies - they're for the dinner table, please. Groping at Lamia's arm with little shame or regard for the woman's personal space, Domino's curious fingers squeeze and explore this artificial construct. The more of the robot he feels, the more the Agent's expression changes. While at first he wore a frown, focused and attentive as he attempted to glean physical sensory data from Lamia's limb, once Johnny gets past her wrist, his face is invaded by a sense of... what is it? Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? Who can say. When Lamia explains that most of what Domino sees is biological in nature, however, Johnny's reaction is decidedly weirded out. His hand is pulled away from Lamia in an instant. Is the woman a coat of meat and blood dressed around a robotic skeleton? That's... that's... Blue eyes look Lamia up and down, seeing her body in a whole new light. Johnny Domino remains silent for a moment longer, then concludes: "Holy shit." Lamia tolerates this, whether from familiarity or from pragmatism. Her hand feels more or less identical to a normal person's hand, or at least a normal person who is rather strong; there's that sense of tautness, a faint hint of resistance to the joints, and a general feeling of solidity. "Yes," she says, conversationally. "At times it was rather difficult to conceal. I believe my greatest aid was always that you had far stranger individuals on your regular payroll." Johnny brings a hand up to his mouth. Not out of physical sickness, but more out of a deep sense of mindfuckery. "How..?", he attempts from between his fingers. "What..?" His mind doesn't quite finish these questions. What IS he trying to figure out, anyway? Domino isn't sure from where to even begin addressing this new revelation. At least this has sufficiently distracted the Agent from stressing over getting macronized... ah, the small comforts. "To what degree are you programmed? You are-- ... are you autonomous? You must be. Right? What are you supposed to /do/?" "Originally, I was meant to assist my creator, Mistress Lemon," what a name, "in whatever needed doing. This meant assisting the organization in their various efforts, primarily through infiltration tactics." Lamia is silent for a few moments. Then, "Now, I am supposed to do whatever I will. I wanted to help you - everyone, I mean. After that, it didn't matter." The name 'Mistress Lemon' goes into Johnny's ear and flies right out of the other. It's a minor abnormality in a situation that is largely abnormal in its abnormalness, and thus is completely overlooked. At Lamia's final comment, Domino's brow wrinkles. What does she mean that afterward it doesn't matter? "Are you going to shut down?" "No," Lamia says. "I don't think I have the ability to do that any more. I meant that I did not mind what happened afterwards." She rubs the back of her neck. "Frankly, I had expected dissection or permanent incarceration. I believe I have underestimated your governmental tolerance for oddity and eccentricity." Johnny doesn't know what to say to all that. His hand remains on his mouth as his brain attempts to process everything and then some. How should he treat Lamia now? For some reason he feels guilty for the way he treated her before, when she had her speech impediment -- which is absolutely ridiculous! She's a bloody ROBOT. Domino really shouldn't fall into the trap of anthropomorphizing a machine. Even if the machine is question is... pretty much anthropomorphized by design. And where's the uncanny valley? There should be an uncanny valley, damn it! Following Lamia's movements with his eyes, the Agent is disturbed by how undisturbed he is when the woman rubs at the back of her neck. The motion looks so natural. So real. So /human/. And what's that? Tolerance for oddity and eccentricity? "Y..yeah," Domino manages in a small voice. "Some of us are... very tolerant." He isn't sure if he's one of these people. Should he be? Domino doesn't ask that, though. Instead, a different question springs to mind. "To what capacity do you emulate humans?" It's right here: ( Y ) "As best as I can tell, I have every meaningful trait that human beings have, although, of course, in different degrees," Lamia says after several seconds of philosophical thought. "Mistress Lemon was extremely pleased by my attempt to kill Colonel Mauser, as it indicated, as she put it, that I had developed an independent will. I do not know if previous W-Numbers also have this capacity, but have simply not had the occasion to express it..." "Ah," says Domino. And that's that. A few more seconds of silence pass by. Johnny blinks a few times - the wheels in his head are spinning, but unfortunately, they are not really getting anywhere. The Agent turns his back on Lamia and proceeds to flump back down on the bench he had previously occupied. A few months ago, Lamia would have simply accepted this and stepped off. And yet, now... Well, she doesn't dopeslap him or anything. "Good luck," Lamia says, before turning and walking off - this time with somewhat less inaudible footsteps - towards wherever it was she was heading in the first place. Category:Logs